Page 38 of Blood of Wolves

Mattias had stripped him down, bathed him, and redressed him. It wasn’t the first time, and certainly wouldn’t be the last – but knowing it had happened while things were so – strange – between them left unpleasant goosebumps shaking out across his carefully-tended skin.

He took a deep breath that did nothing to alleviate any of the steadily-mounting tension in his chest, and said, “I need–”

A knock sounded at the door, and it opened a moment later to reveal Klemens. “Oh, you’re awake, my lord. A message has arrived from Aeres. All the lords who are able are gathering in the mess.”

Náli nodded, and turned toward his trunk, lid still open where Mattias had searched through it to find the clothes he wore now. He heard a step behind him, a soft scuff of the rug. Heard an indrawn breath.

He turned pointedly toward Klemens, and said, “Tell everyone I’m on my way down.”

Klemens nodded – but like he had at the fire that afternoon, or, well, yesterday afternoon, he lingered a beat, gaze shifting from Náli…to Mattias behind him.

Then he nodded, said, “Yes, my lord,” and stepped back out.

Wisely, Mattias said nothing this time.

~*~

Oliver felt like there was a boulder sitting on his chest, but, for once, it wasn’t the result of fever or fluid in his lungs. This was all mental, a physical manifestation of stress.

Percy let out an inquiring rumble through their connection. Oliver sent soothing thoughts his way, pushed the bond way back to the back of his mind, and took a few slow, deep breaths. He forcibly smoothed his features, and resisted the temptation to press his shoulder into Erik’s beside him.

They stood at the head of one of the long tables in the mess, Leif on Erik’s other side, the note from his mother held carefully between large fingertips. Askr had come, carried between two of his burly guardsmen, and situated so his bum leg was propped up on a stool. The others had all gathered as well, even Náli, who had arrived at Long Reach unconscious, carried in the arms of his Guard captain. He looked wan, still, rumpled as if he’d just rolled from bed, but his gaze was sharp, and he stood on his own, arms folded tightly across his chest.

“As of the writing of the message,” Erik said, voice echoing faintly off the walls. He wasn’t shouting, but his voice had taken on an a resonant, carrying quality: the tone of a king speaking in an official capacity. The voice he used when he listened to petitions from his citizens. And, in this instance, Oliver knew, a voice that masked the worry he was feeling. Erik hadn’t said anything besides a quietdamn, but Oliver had caught the flash of panic in his eyes before he steeled himself; knew that, if not for the lords seated before them, he would have dragged a horse out of the stable and gone galloping hellbent for home, snowstorm be damned. “The Sels were anchored in the harbor and hadn’t yet made landfall. We know that won’t hold true forever – but the question is how long.”

“According to Snorri, Ragnar and his troops headed east from here,” Oliver said.

“We think they’ll try to go through the pass.”

“The Razorback?” Askr said, brows flying up. “That’ll take days longer. Why not go west instead? Lay siege to Wildwood – that wouldn’t take more than a few hours! And then march straight to the main road!”

“Aye, that would be easier for them, to be sure,” Birger said. “But they want us to get ahead of them.”

Realization dawned on a dozen faces.

“The Sels lying in wait, and the Úlfheðnar coming up from behind,” Erik said. “They’ll have us pinned.”

“The palace,” Edda said. One gloved hand sat on the table, thumb passing restlessly down the length of his index finger. “It can withstand a full siege from the harbor?”

Outwardly, Erik remained stoic, but his sleeve brushed Oliver’s as he took a deep breath; Oliver heard the faint shudder of his exhale. “The palace walls are thick, and high. I left plenty of men behind – my best, in fact. Bjorn, my captain, is in charge alongside my sister. He and Revna have already evacuated the city and pulled everyone inside the palace. We have weapons, and food, and, should the worst happen, the tunnels through which to escape.”

But Oliver knew, no matter Revna and Bjorn’s competence, no matter the preparedness of Erik’s people, and their strength of spirit – the answer to Edda’s question wasn’tyes. Nothing was certain.

Leif said, “My mother says that the Sels have deployed trained vultures. Their initial attempts to send messenger falcons both north and south failed because of this. She was able to send my hunting hawk, Él, and perhaps they’ve managed to get a message south by now.”

“But they’re otherwise cut off,” Náli said, voice low and dark.

“Returning isn’t optional,” Erik said, and Oliver heard the challenge in his voice – the way he dared anyone at the table to argue against such a course of action.

“No, of course not,” Náli said. “But how do you propose we keep from walking into a trap? Returning does no good if we’ll all be corpses by the end.” He titled his head, unbound hair sliding like liquid platinum over one shoulder. “I suppose I could always reanimate you–”

Erik drew in another deep breath. “Do you think I don’t–”

“I’ll go.” The words were out of Oliver’s mouth before he could think them. Before the implication could even settle. It was a kneejerk reaction; the mood at the table was growing more hopeless by the moment, and their options were limited, and poor, and everyone was exhausted, and worried, and–

And so he volunteered.

It was only afterward, in the ringing silence, as everyone turned to gape at him, Erik’s stare unusually wide and shocked against the side of his face, that he realized, kneejerk or not, his instinct wasgoodin this instance.

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